


above asking price

by remembermyfic



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Rule 63, real estate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembermyfic/pseuds/remembermyfic
Summary: “Plus,” she barrels on because he looks like he wants to talk about her and hockey and that’s not the question he asked her. “That kitchen? You learn to cook to be able to use that kitchen. Or I guess, learn to cook better. It’s exactly the place that becomes the centre of your home, where kids have breakfast at the island, where your wife has her girls’ nights when you’re on the road.”He makes a sound like she’s punched him. “You’ve thought this out.”Connie rolls her eyes and sits up straighter. “You asked.”
Relationships: Jack Eichel/Connor McDavid
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142





	above asking price

**Author's Note:**

> You know them, you find the little x button. Them's the rules. I don't make 'em, I just enforce them. And even then, I don't enforce them because I am not magic.
> 
> Errors are entirely my own because who edits these days. (Me. On my 12th pass. I am not at the 12th pass. I'd like to thank K in advance for texting me the things I mess up.)

Connie has shown hockey superstar Jack Eichel fifteen homes in the Buffalo area. Fifteen. She’s never had to show more than five and it’s starting to hurt her ego.

And, to add insult to injury, they’re back in House 5, for the fourth time. He’s fucking lucky the thing’s still on the market, honestly. But here they are, Jack walking through for the millionth time while Connie settles on the couch, head tilted into the sun. The den has two full walls of windows and it’s the first beautiful day Buffalo’s had in a while.

She doesn’t even open her eyes when the couch sinks next to her. “See everything?”

“Yeah.”

But he still doesn’t sound excited, doesn’t sound like this is the house. Which is stupid. Connie knows this is his house. She wishes he’d just… commit already. “Different this time?”

“No. Same as always.”

Now she opens her eyes. It’s not her nature to confront clients, but she’s not usually met with one so stubborn. “Can I ask you a question?”

He’s watching her, when she looks at him, in a way that’s almost hyper focused. Her stomach flips cartwheels. It takes him a few beats before he says, “Sure.”

“You love this house,” she says and sits up. “I know it, and I know you know it.”

Jack doesn’t answer for a few beats, and when he does, it’s to say, “That wasn’t a question.”

“Why won’t you put in an offer?”

He looks away, and Connie is shocked to find a little blush on his face. It’s one beat, then two, then three before he looks at her. “Would you buy this house?”

She huffs, half out of habit. “I’m not the one looking.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Connie doesn’t respond. There’s a large part of her that doesn’t want to respond. She owes him nothing and they both know it. Yet here she is, watching him watch her, eyes so blue and piercing and she hates that she wants to answer.

“Yes.”

He’s so focused on her when he says. “Why?” Then, when she doesn’t answer right away, he adds, “And not like you’re selling it. A real answer.”

They’ve been making appointments for weeks, they’ve talked about their families, and Jack had even opened up about playing for the Sabres one afternoon, tucked in a coffee shop because they’d already been to three houses and Connie could tell he was getting tired. Or maybe he’d already been tired. The point is, Connie thinks that out of all of her clients, she’s learned the most about Jack.

She also thinks, out of all of her clients, Jack knows the most about her.

“It’s got a mudroom and a garage,” she finds herself saying. “Perfect place to put all of the gear, the shoes-“

“Gear?”

She rolls her head on the cushion of the couch. “Hockey gear.”

“I said-“

“It’s a family home,” she interrupts, almost like she’s reminding him. “Kids need to live here. I told you it was a house you could grow into.” She looks straight forward again. “Plus, I play. Rec league, but I play, and my equipment isn’t any less smelly.”

He takes enough time to reply that Connie gets worried. He looks like she just boarded him. “You never said.”

“To an NHL player? Why would I?” She waves it off. “It wasn’t really relevant to getting you a house. It just means I know how much room hockey takes up and both the mudroom and garage facilitate that.

“Plus,” she barrels on because he looks like he wants to talk about her and hockey and that’s not the question he asked her. “That kitchen? You learn to cook to be able to use that kitchen. Or I guess, learn to cook better. It’s exactly the place that becomes the centre of your home, where kids have breakfast at the island, where your wife has her girls’ nights when you’re on the road.”

He makes a sound like she’s punched him. “You’ve thought this out.”

Connie rolls her eyes and sits up straighter. “You asked.”

“What else?” He sounds so ruthlessly breathless. It’s making her adrenaline rush. She has his whole attention and while she will deny to her grave she’s thought about what it would be like, having that intensity focused on her, she can admit in her head that she had definitely downplayed the way it would make her feel.

“You’ve got a living room and a den,” she goes on, slower now, because she can feel how this is becoming something, but isn’t totally sure what that ‘something’ is. “Space for adults, space for family, you know? Built ins to put toys and books in, space for a massive television to watch-“

“Hockey.”

She laughs. “You’re a nerd.” She closes her eyes again and carefully doesn’t shiver when she feels him move closer. “I like that the master is its own separate suite. Family is important and you want to be close to your kids as a parent, but space is big too. My parents always knew how to take space for themselves, even with me and my brother as busy as we were. It’s like a retreat.”

“Connie-“

“And there are still enough bedrooms for kids. It’s a respectable size without being too much, and-“

She stiffens when he kisses her. It’s all surprise, all shock, and he’s careful enough about pulling away that she doesn’t feel like it was impulsive, per se. “Oh.”

Jack leans back a little more, and she thinks, a little fleetingly, that she doesn’t want that. “Should I apologize?”

He lets her think about it, and eventually she looks at him and says, “No.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t lean in again. She’s fairly certain the ball’s in her court now.

“You want this house.”

“Yes.”

She nods. “You sent me on a wild house chase, knowing this was the house you wanted.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t mean it to work out that way.”

“Because you wanted to kiss me.”

“I’d have kissed you earlier if it was only about kissing you,” he says, scoffs really. Then, when she gives him no response, he says, “Not until House 3.”

“House 3,” she replies, deadpan, because she doesn’t remember a damn thing remarkable about House 3.

“It sounds stupid but you listened.” He looks down like this is uncomfortable for him, like feelings give him hives. “You had all of these houses and I could see the little smirk as I narrowed them down, like you’d deliberately thrown in some houses you knew I wouldn’t like.”

It’s not wrong. Around the third house, she normally brings a longer list, tries to test if he’s for real and if she’d had him down. It had made her a little smug when he’d thrown out all of the houses she’d been a little iffy on and chosen the three she’d been sure were his style. Including the one they’re currently sitting in.

“Most of the people that help me don’t listen.”

She arches an eyebrow.

“Coaches, management, nutritionists, trainers…” He shrugs. “It’s not a woe is me or anything. They’re paid to make everything easier, and they do that by taking decisions out of my hands.”

“You wanted me to choose your house?”

He snorts. “You avoided twelve-bedroom mega mansions.”

Her brow wrinkles. “You specifically asked me to avoid that. I have that e-mail.”

“That’s my point. You listened. You learned.”

“You got demanding.”

His grin is a little wolfish. “You didn’t give in. You never give in.”

“You know hockey. I know houses.”

Jack leans back. “I was fucked when I started picturing you in the houses.”

“What the hell?” she says on a laugh.

“You were talking about family homes,” he argues. “You’re a h- an attractive woman. What did you expect me to do?”

“Picture your perfect hockey wife?”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

He has her there and she knows it. There’s nothing she can say that doesn’t insult half of the better halves in the NHL. She also hates that she’s giving into a stereotype by even thinking it.

“Here’s the thing: being in all of these houses with you? You want this. You want the family and the family home. You’re close with your family. So it wasn’t that hard to picture you in that kitchen, with kids.”

“That’s… a lot.”

“We’re not getting married tomorrow,” he scoffs. “I have a game.”

Connie snorts despite herself.

He stands then, tucks his hands in his pockets. She can’t help the thought that he’d reach for her otherwise. It’s not an unpleasant thought by any means. It’s one she hasn’t considered, for sure, but it’s not an unpleasant one. He shrugs like he’s rolling something off his shoulders.

“So. What do you say?”

“You’re my client.” But it’s murmured and wholly unconvincing as a counter argument.

“Okay. So let’s get this offer in, then I’ll take you to lunch.”

She stands. She’s not that much shorter. Now that she’s looking, she likes that too. “I’m not moving into this house with you.”

“Oh my god, it’s just lunch.” But he’s starting to smile and again, now that she’s looking, she can feel the way her stomach flips.

She pulls out her phone. “I wasn’t the one imagining a family.” She knows her eyes are sparkling when she looks up at him. “So about that offer.”


End file.
